


stitches

by ndnickerson



Series: possession [2]
Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned buys Nancy a piece of lingerie, for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stitches

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows land mines.

Some days are worse than others, and on those days, Ned hears a voice in his head. The words are always awful, and the voice is always _hers_.

_You'll never be a great man, or even a good man, no matter how hard you try. You're just a piece of shit. You always will be. You pathetic slob. No one loves you or even likes you. As soon as you're out of sight they make jokes about you or forget about you. They just wouldn't tell you to your face, but you're a burden to them. They'll never care about you. No one will ever care about you, but me. No one will ever love you but me._

He can't count the number of times he heard _her_ say it, in a million different variations. _She_ had taken pity on him, but she was endlessly disappointed in him, in how he never pleased her or made her happy. When he didn't anticipate her desires, he was a terrible boyfriend, the worst asshole who had ever walked the earth.

She was only hurting him because she loved him. She was only hurting him because he had, somehow, hurt her.

That echo of _her_ still in Ned's mind likes to tell him, on the bad days, that Nancy is tired of him, impatient with his brokenness, more disappointed in him than _she_ had ever been. The echo likes to tell him that _she_ will come back for him and every sin, every infraction, every time his gaze or skin has ever touched Nancy will be repaid a hundred, a thousandfold.

On those days it's hard to move, to breathe, to do anything. He feels nothing, and then he feels everything, such despair and pain that his bones feel thick and heavy with it. On those days Nancy often comes to him, wraps herself around him and strokes his back and murmurs soft comforting words, her breath against his ear, and he knows her in pieces: the way the sunlight turns her reddish hair golden; the dimple of her pierced earlobe; the solid clean-soap smell of the crook of her neck. He waits for her to sigh, to shake her head and leave. She waits until that heaviness has passed, until the doubt has receded for a while, until his eyes are clear again.

Once he sees her, it's easier to relax instead of staying tensed for a blow she has never delivered. He needs to believe that Nancy's sympathy and love are genuine. Most days, he does believe it. That she will never hurt him... although if she ever does, he has no doubt he will deserve it.

He loved Meghan. At first it had been easy; she had been light and fun and devoted to him, and being with her had made him happy. By the end, he had only been afraid: afraid of disappointing her, of making her angry, of what she might do to herself if he upset her. That fear colored everything; it colors his life even now, and he still finds it hard to _react_ , to be honest or talk about how he feels, because so often, in so many unpredictable ways, Meghan had beat that out of him.

A part of him, small but undeniable, still loves Meghan. It had been good for a while. He aches for that happiness again. He can remember a time when he had been free. He's not there anymore. He's not sure he ever will be again. For Nancy, he's trying. He's always trying.

But it's Nancy's birthday next week.

Meghan's birthday had been... hard. She expected a lot from him: chocolates, roses, balloons, a stuffed animal, a text or call from him as soon as midnight hit, for him to sing to her (although she had always been critical of his singing) while she blew out the candle on a cupcake (which she never shared with him, because he needed to _watch his weight_ and pay close attention to himself, to make sure he didn't become even more ugly to her). She also told him exactly what he was expected to buy for her, as her "real" gift, because the flowers and chocolates didn't really count. They were just what she deserved.

One year, her "real" gift had been an expensive bottle of perfume. The following year, she had asked for a lavish makeup set from a boutique. Her requests at Christmas had been equally specific and expensive, and Ned had been bleakly sure that, one day, she would show him the _exact_ diamond engagement ring he would be expected to give her. That if he hadn't, she would have threatened or attempted suicide; she would have left him smarting and bruised on the floor from her punches and kicks, knowing that he would never lift a hand to hurt her.

A part of him still can't quite believe that she's out of his life for good. A part of him is sure that he will see her again, and he doesn't know what he'll do.

With any luck, on that day, Nancy will be by his side, as she has promised him she will be. He had been listening to Meghan's put-downs for so long that it had been easy to believe her: no one else could or would ever love him, and hers was the only love he would ever know.

One day, Nancy hopes, it will all feel like a nightmare to him, with just as little power to hurt him.

"What would you like for your birthday, Nan?"

He asks her when they're walking back to his room after class, hand in hand, her face tipped up and beautiful. She's never hit him, never hurt him. She's done everything she can to show him love, a love so entirely unlike what he had with Meghan that he's sometimes paralyzed by it. To Meghan, love had meant punishment and pain, disappointment and failure, condescension and rage. His voice was swallowed by hers. Even now, it's easier to be quiet instead of risking an outburst. Risking more pain.

Her smile becomes a grin. "We could go out to dinner," she suggests. "Somewhere nice, so we can dress up. You look so handsome in your blue suit."

It's his favorite, but Meghan hated it. He's happy for a chance to wear it again. He's happy that she thinks he looks handsome in it.

"What else?"

She shakes her head. "I don't make a big deal out of my birthday," she tells him. "I mean, I'll have a meal with Dad and Hannah that weekend or something, and probably another one with Bess and George. It's okay with me if we go out with Bess and George, or if you'd prefer not to, we can just go out together. But if you mean gifts..." She shrugs, tucking a lock of reddish-gold hair behind her ear. "If you _really_ want to get me something, something small is fine. I mean it."

"Would you like flowers?" He has to concentrate to keep his voice even, to keep that small shiver from betraying him. She can usually sense when he's upset, but he hates letting her know. He can tell how much she hates it, and that makes the little voice in his head, nasty and insidious, even more persistent. "Chocolates? Balloons?"

She giggles, and Ned's heart sinks. He's betrayed himself. As he always does, he begins to tuck his chin down, to focus on his feet.

Then she squeezes his hand, and her blue eyes are soft and sweet when he slowly forces himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. I—I like lilies, and roses, but you don't have to buy me flowers. Not unless you want to. Whatever you give me, I'll love all the more because it came from you, because it was something you picked out for me. Okay?"

"Okay," he murmurs. An anxious lump has risen in his throat. With _her_ , this conversation would have ended with an exasperated, profane lecture explaining just how useless he was, but the woman next to him isn't Meghan. There will be no bruises tonight.

"Hey," she murmurs, and he glances over at her again. "I love you."

"I love you too," he tells her, and her face lights up with her smile, and he can't help smiling in return.

_It used to be like this with her too._

He doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to believe that any part of this will mimic what happened with Meghan.

They settle on plans to go out with Bess and George. Crowds don't make Ned as nervous as they once did—crowds meant Meghan's anger, accusations that he had been looking at other girls or not paying attention to her when he should have been—and the three girls have known each other for a long time, so when he's there, he's able to spend the time observing and learning about Nancy instead of being on his best behavior, analyzing and second-guessing every comment and inflection before he makes it. He loves learning about Nancy, and he's eager to hear all the stories her friends tell about their past with her. He has never heard any sign that Nancy is anything other than he believes her to be. She isn't abusive. She isn't cruel or demeaning.

As much as he tries to tell himself that Nancy was being honest with him, that she isn't expecting almost hourly birthday gifts, it feels wrong to give her less than he gave Meghan, as though he valued Meghan more. He decides to give her flowers and another gift, and goes into Emersonville, to browse the boutiques. Meghan always wanted expensive things, but Ned doesn't want to give Nancy the same gifts he gave Meghan. Nancy doesn't wear much makeup, and her perfume smells nothing like Meghan's. He likes the scent of it. After she's spent the night in his bed, he can still bury his face in the pillow she used and think of her.

He's walking out of one of the boutiques with a gift bag in his hand, a pressed-flower necklace inside, when another shopfront catches his eye. He's never been inside; Meghan never asked for anything he would have found there, and she would have punished him for even glancing through its windows. He has to steel himself, to square his shoulders, before he can summon enough courage to walk in.

And, much to his mortification, the first person he sees inside is one of the girls from the Theta Pi sorority. Several of Ned's friends on the football and now the basketball team are members of the Omega Chi fraternity, and he's attended some of their events, and the Theta girls often help out. He thinks the girl's name is Brook.

"Hi, Ned! Here to pick out something for Nancy?"

Two girls are standing near Brook, and their eyes are sparkling, and Ned wishes he had never walked in. He feels anxious and painfully self-conscious, and he can't bring himself to speak.

He thinks that everyone knows. Everyone knows about what happened between him and Meghan. They pity him or are disgusted with him, a man who was abused by his girlfriend. Ned never told anyone while it was going on; he did everything he could to make sure no one knew. He had been ashamed of it. He still is.

This is a different invasion of privacy, although he feels ashamed by it too. His relationship with Nancy is public, but he feels just as protective of it. He wants it to be good. He wants what they have to stay sweet and never turn bitter. And this... maybe this would ruin it.

Brook takes a step toward him, reaches out and touches his arm. "Hey. It's okay. I didn't mean to make you embarrassed. I just think it's sweet. I can leave you alone."

Ned's sure he's blushing. One of Brook's friends giggles and that makes it worse. "Uh, thanks," Ned manages to stammer out. "Sorry."

Brook nods. "It's all right," she says, and there's a gentleness in her tone, one that too often comes into Nancy's voice—as though a raised voice or the wrong word could shatter him. He supposes, in a way, that it could. He wishes they didn't treat him that way, but more than that, that they didn't _have_ to.

The front of the store is stocked with bras and matching underwear. That isn't what he's looking for. Several girls and a few of the guys are looking through the merchandise; some of them are clearly couples, and Ned thinks for a fleeting moment that he should bring Nancy here with him, but he wants this to be a surprise. Maybe, if she likes it, they can come here again. Maybe.

Nancy doesn't wear cute nightgowns or little silk slips when they're together; he only sees whatever bra and underwear she's wearing underneath her clothes. He was also aware that Nancy wanted to be with him for months before he was able to give her what she wanted. It's all tangled up in his head, having sex with Meghan and the drastic way she changed after, the way her need for him became obsession and furious jealousy...

Nancy hasn't been that way, and this is different from before, buying lingerie for his girlfriend to wear. Showing her that he wants to be with her.

In the beginning, sex with Meghan had been good. Then she had begun to use it as a way to control him, to hurt him, to _get to_ him—when she had been in so deep that everything she did _got to_ him. She had just wanted him to be a good man. That was what she had always said.

Ned shakes his head. Nancy doesn't withhold praise or love from him. She doesn't deny him to make herself feel good. And now that he has this idea, he finds he can't easily shake it.

Several of the gowns seem to be whisper-thin, revealing almost everything. Some look modest. His gaze travels over one, and he returns to it, remembering.

The first time they went out together, in public, she wore a blue dress and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She's always been beautiful to him. That night, she had held him as they shared her bed, and there had been no demands, no pain. She had only wanted to know what _he_ wanted. She had wanted _him_ to be happy with her. He's never been able to tell her how much that means to him. It feels shameful, that something so simple could touch him so much.

The short nightgown is blue and low-cut, with a ribbon tied around it that meets in a bow just beneath the cups. The fabric is thin but he can't see through it.

He doesn't want her to think—that he thinks she's a slut. He doesn't want her to be offended by it, and even the thought that she might be is enough to make his stomach churn, make him nearly walk out of the store. Meghan taught him to never, _never_ take risks. To never risk her displeasure.

But Nancy would look beautiful in it. He wants to see her in it.

He makes sure that the cashier gives him a gift receipt, just in case she doesn't like it, or if he loses his nerve. By the time he walks out, Brook and her friends have already moved on.

Maybe he'll come here again, and he won't be alone.

\--

As much as she denies it, Nancy does enjoy the fuss, at least a little. She likes dressing up in heels and a sprigged silk dress, doing her makeup and feeling pretty. She likes taking selfies with her friends and seeing what they are giving her for her birthday. She doesn't care if it's small and handmade or inexpensive and sentimental; expensive presents make her embarrassed, anyway, unless her father is giving them to her. She meant it when she told Ned that if he wanted to get her something, that she would be happy with something small. While he's been working some this semester, she knows it hasn't been much, that he may not have much to spend on her.

It doesn't matter, anyway. She wants to spend the night in his arms, naked or just cuddling, and he's already said she can stay with him. It's easier in his single than in her room, where her roommate might come back anytime.

His eyes soften when he sees her, her skirt fluttering as she skips down the last few steps and shoots him a grin. "You look beautiful," he tells her softly. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks. So do you," she says, reaching for his hand, willing him to hold her gaze instead of hanging his head. A very small smile plays at the corners of his lips, and he does hold her gaze for a moment, and to her it feels like a victory.

Nancy doesn't hate easily, but she hates Meghan Reynolds. She hates the cruel bitch who broke Ned's spirit and taught him to fear. She's grateful for any glimpse she sees of him beyond that protective wall he's built; she craves it. Slowly, he's opening to her. Slowly, he's letting her in, when she would have understood if he had been unable to be vulnerable again.

Ned's next stop is to pick up Bess and George, and Nancy knows that Meghan was the only woman, other than his mother, to ride in his car during their relationship. She knew it even before Ned told her. All she has to do is imagine what the most selfish, most dehumanizing thing Meghan could have done was, and she knows she'll be close. Although there were depths to Meghan's sadism that Nancy cannot fathom, cannot conceive.

The restaurant is at the other end of Emersonville, near the more affluent houses, the tiny boutique shops. Ned opens the doors for each of the girls, holds Nancy's hand as they approach the restaurant, and holds the door open for them there, too. Bess bats her eyelashes in thanks; George just gives him a nod and a smile.

The restaurant is inspired by the idea of an old French bakery. A long counter lines one wall, glass encased, displaying individual confections and beautiful cakes and pies. The tables are small and intimate, draped in starched white tablecloths. Tea lights in handmade glass jars flicker atop each table. To one side of the pastry counter, wine bottles are arranged on their sides, ready for an order or two. The place smells like sugar and savory and wood, and Nancy's heel scrapes slightly on the restored wooden floor as the hostess shows them to their table. It's a very nice place, and couples and groups around them wear everything from casual dresses to jeans to diamonds.

Nancy waits for Ned to pull out her chair, because he likes to do it; he likes holding doors for her, offering her his coat if she's cold, pulling out her chair, standing if she leaves the table. It feels very chivalrous and a little old-fashioned, kind of like his name, and she told him early in their relationship that she didn't mind doing those things for herself. He hadn't contradicted her, but his silence and the almost wounded look that had flickered over his face had told her volumes.

He's a good man, a genuinely good, kind man, and every time she sees that in him again she hates Meghan all the more.

Over dinner Ned's quiet, although he answers questions when Bess or George or Nancy ask them. He agrees that his entree is delicious; he nods solemnly when Bess comments that Nancy deserves to have an incredible birthday. He asks if Nancy wants to split a dessert with him, or have one of her own, and she selects the clafouti with whipped cream. Then she asks him to order the triple chocolate brownie so she can have a bite, because she knows he loves chocolate and he's unlikely to choose it for himself.

At the end of their meal, Bess and George and Nancy are smiling and warm with laughter, happy to be together. They have always been her closest friends. Then she reaches for Ned's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, leans over to kiss his cheek, and he smiles.

Meghan isolated him. She did everything she could to disrupt his relationships with other people. But she never believed she was abusing him, just as it had taken Ned a while to accept it, or at least to acknowledge it. Now that Nancy's with him, she hopes that Ned is finding his way back to that, the warmth and companionship of close friends, even though she knows that he depends on their relationship. He keeps nearly every weekend available for her. He looks at her like she is sunshine.

And she tries to be. She tries to be the woman he needs, and she hopes she's close.

When the waitress asks if their ticket will be split, Ned says that he's paying for Nancy's, and he won't hear of changing his mind. Nancy shakes her head once the waitress is gone, and reaches for his hand again. "That's really sweet of you," she tells him. "You didn't have to, but I appreciate it. All the presents you've given me have been so sweet."

"I... have another one," he murmurs, glancing down and back up into her eyes as he reaches into an inner pocket and pulls out a small wrapped box tied in a white ribbon. Bess and George have already given Nancy their presents—from Bess, a set of trendy new nail polishes and a pair of lovely delicate earrings, from George a DVD of a movie they both enjoyed and an assortment of healthy granola bars they both like.

"What else has Ned given you?" Bess asks, her chin perched on her palm, her elbow on the table.

"Oh, this morning it was a beautiful arrangement of roses and lilies—before that, right after midnight, he texted me to wish me a happy birthday. And now this... and dinner. Honey..."

"If it hadn't been Ned, one of us would have bought you dinner," George admits. "But it is pretty romantic."

Bess nods. "Open it, Nan!"

Once she manages to unknot the ribbon and open the box, she finds a clear pendant with a miniature pressed, dried flower arrangement inside. Ned's dark eyes are cautious and guarded as he gazes into her face, looking for any sign she doesn't like the gift. "Is it okay?" he murmurs.

"Of course it is. I love it, Ned. Thank you." She takes his hand again, brushing her lips against his cheek. "Can you put it on me?"

The look of glowing happiness on his face as he obeys her makes tears prick in her eyes. He's just so sweet, despite everything, and she feels so fiercely protective of him.

They make plans to go out over the weekend, to go to a club and dance, and she can sense Ned's hesitance before he agrees. She understands. It's a situation that Meghan would have punished him for getting himself into. She gives him another kiss on the cheek after he agrees, and she knows without asking that if he does go, he will spend his time there within her halo, dancing with only her, his gaze locked to only her.

It's a devotion that she would never have asked of him, much less demanded. But Meghan thought it was her right.

After Bess and George have been safely delivered back to their dorms and Nancy walks into Ned's room with him, a part of her is expecting him to immediately slide his arms around her, to nuzzle against her, to promise he will do his best to make her feel good. Instead, he darts a look at her, one she's grown to understand. He's nervous about something.

"I'm sorry. I know you said not to buy you much..."

"You didn't have to. But I appreciate it." She steps close to him, sliding her arms up over his shoulders, gazing up into his face.

"I'm glad. I... I needed to."

"Why?"

He looks down and Nancy feels it in her chest, somehow, before he even speaks it. "Because you deserve more than I ever gave her," he whispers.

She strokes the nape of his neck with her fingertips, tracing the silky hair she finds there. "I have you," she tells him. "Of your own free will. I will never hurt you, not if I can possibly help it. You've given me so much more than I ever had any right to ask."

The ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I bought one more present for you," he tells her, and she bites back her immediate protest. "I've never... bought anything like it before. You can take it back, if you want. I just..." He shrugs, gently taking her hands and lowering them back to her sides, before he opens his closet door and pulls out a shallow box, the kind a shirt might be in.

"You've never bought anything like it before?" she repeats, accepting it when he hands it to her. He's flushed a little, too. It would make him look so sweet, if he didn't also look so anxious.

"No," he says quietly.

She steals a few more glances at his face as she sits down on his bed, carefully taking off the wrapping paper, taking off the lid. In a precisely folded nest of tissue she finds a blue nightgown, and she's not imagining that Ned's blush has deepened.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, once she's taken it out of the box and has it dangling by its straps from her fingers. "Do you... want me to put it on for you?"

He nods. "Please," he murmurs.

It's the first time one of her boyfriends has bought a piece of lingerie for her; she's always just picked them out herself. She goes to his bathroom to change, and she's delighted when it fits, almost perfectly. The fabric is molded tight to her breasts and flows into an opaque skirt from the high waist. She leaves her lace-trimmed satin panties on and walks back into his bedroom, her nipples already standing beneath the thin fabric.

His dark-eyed gaze sweeps over her, one of her hands clenching almost nervously, her fingertip catching the hem to worry it against her thumb. She feels more exposed than she ever has to him. The pool of illumination from the bathroom's age-ambered light cuts a slant over her, leaves slices of light in his dark eyes.

It's at times like this that her heart stops, swelling in her throat, bringing tears to prickle there. She can't believe how easy it is for her to stop thinking about Meghan, to write her off as some bad dream—and then she sees him like this, and her heart is broken by his capacity for suffering, for the self-hatred that kept him bound to _her_. All he knew was pain and a love so jealous and tortured it turned to cruelty. Nancy only wants to repay him in tenderness.

His fingers tighten, clench to a fist at his side, and he releases it, taking a step toward her. She wants to break the spell, say something light and flippant, to see one of his rare amused smiles, but her voice is gone. She's done this for him, and she wonders how much has ever been done for him. What else she can possibly do, to carefully, painlessly peel back the layers he's made to keep himself sane—how impassive he is, slow to respond, slow to tell her what he needs. If he needs this, she gives it willingly.

Then he's close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and her lashes flutter down as he cups her cheek. "So beautiful," he whispers, and she can't help it. The slow, almost bashful smile that steals over her is genuine.

And she feels it then. This is how it was for him—a taste of sweetness in a sea of bitter, a faint thread of hope snatched away from him in the next moment.

This is how it is for her, a hush that leaves her hushed and waiting, a tenderness made all the sweeter for how long it took.

\--

"Tell me what you want, birthday girl."

Her blue eyes are shining. He never sees her this way with anyone else, just with him. He wants to think that what they have is deeper, but he has never been able to say it. Giving voice to it means it might be contradicted. That what he feels from her is just his own loneliness, echoed back into some semblance of a lullaby.

He was lonely with Meghan. Surrounded by more love than he deserved—more love than she said he deserved—and he had been lonely. It felt ungrateful. Then it felt like loneliness was his punishment for disappointing the woman who swore she would love him to her dying day and beyond. Who brought him to such rare, beautiful highs before allowing him to crash back to the cold earth, left freezing without her warmth.

The woman in front of him— _Nancy, Nancy_ , he hears it like a hush, like a promise, with every beat of his heart—has given him such joy, and in a way it will be a relief, the day she cups his cheeks in her palms and murmurs mournfully that it's over. Her patience has worn thin and their time has passed. He'll be able to stitch himself back together, then, somehow.

Right now he's raw and exposed, and he hates the feeling. He and Meghan worked hard to burn all the vulnerability out of him. Numbness is easier than the weight of despair. Anything on earth will be easier than losing Nancy.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispers, and slides her arms up over his shoulders. "Without hiding it, without making it better. Please."

"I wish I'd known you first," he whispers, and when his throat goes tight, his eyes pricking, he swallows hard to keep the tears down.

She gives him a small smile, and when he doesn't speak for a long moment, she strokes the back of his neck. "I wish that too," she whispers. "I would never have let her hurt you. But we have now. We have the rest of our lives."

He leans down, oh so slowly, and touches his forehead to hers. "I want to be what you need," he whispers. "I want to make you happy."

"You do. You always do. You always have."

He pulls back a little, just enough to shake his head. "I can see it when you're frustrated with me," he says, and his voice is just louder than a breath. "I try to stop it..."

Her smile wobbles a little. "I'm not frustrated with you. I'm not. I'm just..." She sighs. "I just want to punch her in the mouth for what she did to you. I know how hard this has been, and I've never wanted to push you past where you were comfortable..."

"I was comfortable with her," he admits, and he sees the flicker of pain cross her face before she closes her eyes. "It's comforting to know that I—I'm worthless. Beneath contempt and unloveable. There's no lower to go. There's nothing left to lose."

"Don't say that," she whispers, and a tear tracks down her cheek, her eyes still closed. She sniffles. "Please. You know that's not true."

"And you love me. So I'm somehow worthy now. And when you leave..."

She shakes her head, opening her eyes, reddened by her tears. "I won't," she says, her voice almost hoarse, almost angry. "Not for as long as you want me."

"She promised me forever," he murmured. "And I believed her. How can I promise you forever? You're worth so much more than this... than me."

"But you're all I want," she tells him, almost pleading. "And this has never been about what we deserve, because... oh, oh my God, she wasn't even worth the dust beneath your feet. She made you feel tiny because she felt small, and she needed to hurt someone more than she was hurting. And you, with your beautiful eyes and your sweet smile and your broken heart, you're worth more to me than anyone or anything I could possibly dream. Maybe she cracked you, but she didn't break you. And I want to be the one to fill in all those empty places, with so much love. So much." She stands up on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his cheek. "You were never hers to have, baby. You are your own. And you deserve to have what you want."

"With you?" he breathes.

She nods. "Love me," she whispers.

He brushes his thumb over the track her tears left on her skin, then kisses the damp flesh. He's hurt her. He's all jagged edges and bottomless need, and he's hurt the woman he loves.

Her lips find his. Her mouth is warm and inviting, her wet lashes brushing against his cheek as he deepens the kiss. It's her birthday and he's made her cry.

He wants her to gasp and tremble with pleasure. He wants to feel her welcoming under him, watch her master him as she rides him, sobbing as she babbles with delight.

Even now it startles him, when he sees it online, in comments, in articles. _He could have walked away. He didn't._

He could have walked away and it's so easy now to think of himself as a fool, when it was another way he was pointlessly proving his love to her. Staving off another beating, another round of ridicule and scorn.

He proved his love to a monster by willingly remaining her captive. The seed she planted in him whispers that the only way he can prove he loves Nancy is to let her go. To let her be free and happy with someone else, someone who is whole. Someone who is worthy of her.

But he clings to her, pulling her closer, tight against him. Some nights he can't do this. Some nights he's afraid he will disappoint her, as Meghan almost always seemed to be, and so he makes love to her with his hands and his mouth, until she's gasping and begging him, shuddering at the pleasure of it. He wants more tonight. He needs more than that tonight.

Nancy makes a soft pleased noise when her belly brushes against his growing erection, backing him toward his bed. He dreams of her here all the time. He dreams of her with him, like this...

As soon as he's seated on the bed she's straddling him, rubbing against him, and he slides his hand under the hem of her gown, his fingertips trailing down her back, then beneath the band of her panties to cup her ass. His other hand cups her breast, and she moans when he brushes his thumb against the tight, sensitive tip through the silky fabric. "Yes," she gasps.

"I love you," he murmurs, looking into her eyes. "I love you so much."

She nods. "Oh, baby, I love you too, oh my _God_..."

Her fingers are shaking a little as she reaches between them, and he sighs in relief as she unfastens his pants and frees his erection. Her fingers slide up and down his length, and his hips jolt a little when she brushes her thumb over the tip. Her lips find his again, and he kisses her hard. This is undeniable, her arousal and her response to him. This isn't just pity. She wants him. She needs him, too.

He makes himself remember it, for those times when his head is full of the lies Meghan told him. He focuses on the feel of her hard-tipped breast beneath his palm, the soft anticipating chuckle that comes from her when she strokes the heel of her hand down his erection again. He focuses on the warm floral scent of her perfume, her shampoo, the feel of her lips against his.

He strips his clothes off when she begins to tug at the tail of his shirt, when she whispers that she wants to feel his skin against hers. He lays her down and immediately she brings her knees up, and she's stripped her panties off too, she's wearing nothing but the present he gave her. He shudders when he perches over her and lowers his hips to hers, when he feels her inner thighs cradling him. He sighs when he feels the warmth radiating from her, and presses himself against her, against her slick tender flesh.

She moans then too, her arms up over his shoulders, her lips parted as she gazes up at him. "Oh, yes," she whispers, searching his eyes. "Yes, oh _please_..."

"Please what," he murmurs, moving so he can nuzzle against her neck, to kiss her collarbone. "Tell me what you need, beautiful. I'll give you everything..."

"I need you inside me," she whispers. "I need you, Ned. I love you."

"I love you," he whispers against her skin, then brushes his lips against it, feeling her swallow. "I need you too."

He kisses her again, deeply, his tongue in her mouth and her fingers in his hair, and the feel of the silk against his chest is so sweet, but he needs more. He catches the hem in his hand and begins to slide it up, and she arches to let him, and in the process her sex brushes against his again.

He props himself so he can fondle both her bare breasts and rubs deliberately against her, against that sensitive flesh between her legs, and she shivers. She hums against his kiss, a sound of both pleasure and desperation, and he moves forward and back. A shudder passes over her hips every time he's able to rub against her clit, and she reaches down, cupping his ass. It feels good to him too, but not as good as being inside her.

So much about sex with Nancy is different, and he's so incredibly grateful, and he has no idea how to tell her any of it. He doesn't want to tell her or anyone what that was like with Meghan. He wishes he could forget.

And when they're like this, it's easier to focus on just the present and now and the loving woman under him than on what happened before. She doesn't hurt him; when she drags her nails against his back, it's not meant to cause him pain. He loves all of it. He loves the way she tenses and then relaxes, drawing him closer as he first begins to slide inside her. He loves making love to her, and he loves after, when her head is against his shoulder and her naked body is pressed against his, sated and loving and unguarded.

He works inside her until his full length is between her legs, and he can _feel_ her, how wet and tight she is around him. He keeps one hand still fondling her breast and plucking at her nipple, and moves the other between them, so he can rub his thumb against the slick nub of her clit.

She gasps out his name, arching, but he's not moving in and out of her, not yet. He loves feeling her buck under him, responding to his stimulating her clit, the way her inner flesh tightens against him. When she releases a high, keening whine, wordlessly begging him, he rolls onto his back, still buried inside her.

As soon as both her knees are on the bed she's riding him, with rapid thrusts of her hips that leave her breasts bouncing. She tips her head back, releasing a low guttural moan when he rubs her clit again, his gaze locked to her and the sight of her obvious pleasure. He's had so much practice at self-control but she tests it, like this. His body wants completion. He wants to leave a part of himself inside her, deep and secret. And oh, oh God, to see her this way...

He manages to hold out until after she's come, even though the feel of her slick inner flesh pulsing against him almost sends him over the edge. She collapses to him with a long moan, her skin gleaming with sweat, trying to pant her breath back. "Oh my God," she mumbles against his neck, and he's still inside her.

He's never done it before, but he rolls with her so that her back is against the wall and her legs are wrapped around them, as they face each other, on their sides. She flinches when her shoulder blades come into contact with the cool painted cinder block, but her discomfort is only temporary. Her face is flushed, her blue eyes startling-bright, and she seems to realize what he's doing only when he moves in her in a gentle thrust.

"I'm going to scream," she forces out, her entire body constricting, her lashes fluttering down as he moves inside her.

"As long as it's in pleasure," he whispers, cupping her ass, her thigh, adjusting the angle of his penetration. She moans loudly, and neither of them stifle it; he rubs her clit with his thumb and she brings her hand down to help him, her other thumb slowly rubbing back and forth over an elastic nipple.

"Oh my God, how are you still hard," she demands, her brow furrowing, her hips trembling as she takes his thrusts. Inside her is so fucking slick and perfect from her orgasm. "Oh my _God_..."

"Practice," he whispers, hoping she won't press him further.

"Feels so good, feels so _fucking good_... oh my God, oh right there _right there!_ "

She kisses him hard and he finds his rhythm, her leg slung over his hip. She feels so good. She feels... like she was made for him.

She does scream with pleasure, high and shrill and edged in sobs, her nipples tight and her body straining against his, jerking as she reaches another climax. She's so sensitive, probably too sensitive, but he can't help himself. He wants to see how long he can last.

"Come," she begs him, sobbing, and she's still trembling from the aftershocks but she's limp and soft moans punctuate his every thrust. "Come, baby, please..."

He can't help it, not then. He sheaths himself fully inside her, cupping her ass to hold her tight to him as he finally spends himself with a groan. As soon as she feels him begin to relax, she sighs in pleasure, clinging to him too, her hand still cupped between her thighs. When he rolls onto his back she follows, and he's still inside her, although he's softening.

She drops a kiss against his shoulder, his neck, and her hair is trailing warm over his skin and her breath is damp as she tries to catch it. He feels her eyelashes against his skin, the damp curls between her thighs, the light glide of her fingertips against his upper arm, and he feels only love and peace.

There will be an end. He doesn't quite know when it will happen, but there will be an entire day he doesn't think of Meghan, and then two, and then a week. He just has to make so many good memories that they push the old, bad ones back, until they can fade even more. So Nancy can fill all the cracks left in him with love.

He thinks of those delicate vases, cracked and pieced back together with gold shot through, made more beautiful by their imperfections. He doesn't think he will ever be that way, but Meghan took his devotion and love and turned them against him. He's terrified of being hurt again, but with Nancy he's powerless to resist.

He is devoted to her. He loves her with all his heart and all his strength.

She kisses his cheek and he nuzzles against her in return, his fingertips counting each bone in her spine, sweeping over her shoulder blades, brushing against the nape of her neck. She loves him, and her love is the most precious thing in the world to him, because it means he deserves more than the hell he was in before he met her.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs.

She chuckles, then pushes herself up a little so she can look down at him. "Thanks for that last present," she murmurs, her lips curving up. "Just what every girl wants for her birthday, an incredible orgasm or two."

He smiles back at her, briefly. "I'd give you anything," he whispers. "Anything in the world, to see you smile."

She leans down and kisses him, softly, sweetly. "And I'd do the same for you."


End file.
